


Ask not of me to Betray

by musicalgirl4474



Series: Whumptober 2020 [1]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda, Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: Alex is in Trouble, Angst, Arnold is a turn-coat, Hurt No Comfort, It's Whumptober, Kidnapped, Nooses, Slapping, Whumptober 2020, what did you expect?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:41:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26826049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musicalgirl4474/pseuds/musicalgirl4474
Summary: Whumptober 2020October 1st: Let's Hang Out SometimeWaking up restrained/shackled/hanging
Series: Whumptober 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1956718
Kudos: 44





	Ask not of me to Betray

**Author's Note:**

> I'm late, by a few days. Hopefully I'll get caught up soon.

He wakes up with the taste of blood in his mouth and a painful ache in his shoulders from being too-long tied behind the back of the chair he was restrained on. Alexander blinks, doing his best to clear his vision. All he can see is a single candle sputtering on the table in front of him, throwing stark shadows against the wooden walls of . . . where was he? He no longer has his coat, and his hair falls loose against his neck in a way he nearly never allowed.

He’s not sure what the last thing he remembers is, his head throbs when he tries too hard. He seems to remember riding away from camp with his messenger’s bag heavy at his side, but was he able to deliver the correspondence the General had so wanted to be timely? The messenger bag was nowhere to be seen, so he could hope that he had delivered the messages before being overtaken by, he assumed, Red Coats. Judging by his fuzzy memory and the throbbing at the back of his skull, he had been quite violently knocked unconscious.

He pulled experimentally at the ropes restraining his wrists; rough farm-rope, the kind that could leave one with splinters if they weren’t careful, and too tightly-tied to wriggle loose. Heavy footsteps sounded above him, and Alexander chanced a look over his shoulder as the door behind him opened. The person behind him was not what he had expected. 

Brigadier General Benedict Arnold. The turn-coat. The man who had sold out their cause for a little more money and considerably less glory.

“Lieutenant Colonel Hamilton,” Arnold said as he came to sit casually atop the table before Alexander. “One of Washington’s boys. His favorite, if the rumors are to be at all believed.” Alexander stayed silent.

“It’s unfortunate that you managed to set fire to the correspondence you were carrying when these men grabbed you, even more unfortunate that you killed one of their own while doing so. You’ll find them quite confrontational if you don’t tell them what they need to know.”

“You mean what you need to know, traitor.”

“Sharp boy,” Arnold said, grabbing Alexander’s chin in a bruising grip. “No wonder Washington keeps you close, that mouth could get you in trouble.” Alexander wanted to thrash out of that grip, but the ropes kept him tightly restrained. “You will save yourself a lot of unnecessary pain if you tell us what we need to know.”

“I am not as much a contemptible coward as you.” Arnold slapped him open-handed across the face, the ring he wore cutting into Alexander’s skin. Oh God his head was throbbing. 

“Fine, have it your way,” Arnold said, and made a motion. The Red Coats behind Alexander moved, and suddenly there was rope around his neck; two nooses being pulled tight. He panicked for a moment, but the nooses stopped just short of choking off his breath entirely.

“One wrong move,” Arnold said conversationally, “and you’ll be on the floor gasping for air like a cut fish. Understood?” Warrily, Alexander nodded as the ropes around his ankles and chest were cut away. “Good. Up.” The nooses tugged even before he had his feet under him, and Alexander choked in a panic as he staggered to his feet, balance upset by his hands still being tied behind his back. They didn’t wait for him to gain his bearings before pulling him up the stairs and out of the room, Arnold trailing behind.

The soldiers allowed no slack to the ropes as they pulled him through the house and out into the surrounding forest. For a moment, Alexander panics, thinking that he would be hung from a tree, his body left swinging in the wind for someone else to find, rotted away. But his fate appears to be something different. They walk through the forest a while, Alexander stumbling when the soldiers pull cruelly on the nooses, or when Arnold trips him, laughing.

He is desperately thirsty when they come to a thinning of the trees, and soon enough they are looking out at the Atlantic, towards a war-ship moored off-shore. There is a small row-boat beached a few feet from them, and two more soldiers standing by it.

“Off to The Vulture, then,” Arnold said, as the soldiers holding his nooses pulled him to the boat the other two had pulled into the water. Alexander knew, however, that if he went onto the ship, it was likely he would never come off it alive, only his body dropped into the ocean. So he dug his feet into the sandy muck of the ground and bolted. Or, tried to. The surprise managed to catch the soldiers off-guard, but one of them managed to keep ahold of the rope. A few steps into his desperate sprint, Alexander felt resignation fill this chest as the air left it, rope digging into the flesh of his neck.

He struggled for a moment, before Arnold was in front of him, grabbing hold of his chin as he gasped for breath. “Maybe not as smart as I took you to be,” he sneered, before throwing Alexander’s lax body to the ground. “And you!” Arnold called to the soldier who had fumbled his rope, “keep a tighter hold on that or I’ll tie you to it!”

“Yes Sir,” the man responded, looping the frayed end around his hand. Alexander just stared up at the blue sky as he waited for the stars dancing in his vision to fade. They don’t. Instead, the rope stays tight around his neck and the blackness takes his whole vision and, quickly thereafter, his thoughts.

**Author's Note:**

> THE VULTURE is the name of the ship that Arnold escaped from the Patriots on when he was discovered. Guys, sometimes you just can't make this stuff up.
> 
> Other prompts from Whumptober might continue this storyline.


End file.
